


Falling Apart

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Dark Side Logan [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Ambition! Logan, Angst, Blood and Injury, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Fantasy Violence, Kinda?, Logic | Logan Sanders is a Dark Side, MEGA ANGSTY, Near Death Experiences, Sickfic, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Logic | Logan Sanders, Sympathetic Morality | Patton Sanders, he's having a bad time, someone give roman a hug, sympathetic dark sides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Roman tries to clear his head in the imagination, and ends up gravely wounded. But the damage goes much deeper than physical injury.
Series: Dark Side Logan [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725013
Comments: 47
Kudos: 350





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one kinda got away from me, and I really put our princey through the ringer, here.

He's in the imagination. Where else would he be, after all?

Not his room, where his thoughts spiral out into fantasies and daydreams, not the commons, waiting for a splash of blue that's never coming, not even his own side of the imagination, where everything is too bright and cheery.

No. It's darkness and quiet and solitude he needs, so he's crossed the boundary lines into Remus's territory.

The trees’ spindly limbs stretch up and up, tangling together in the canopy. Dark eyes seem to glow, staring from hollows and underbrush, soft cackles and rustles echoing from nowhere in particular. An owl hoots ominously, and he shakes his head with a fond smile.

If the others think he is one for clichés and exaggerations, then they don’t know Remus. He prides himself on his work, maybe more than he himself does, every detail must be perfect down to a T. He wonders how long was spent writing his song, how many times did he rehearse it, perform it, force Deceit to listen to it, until he was sure it was ready?

Oh, Remus may be darker than him, sure, and much more impulsive, with much more dangerous ideas, but he is still Creativity, still takes pride in every being and mote of dust he conjures, still thrives on other's approval.

Something he was guilty of denying him far too many times. How long has it been, since Remus barged into his room, face aglow, hands gesturing wildly as he spouted off his newest genius idea, because he just had to share it, right that instant? When did he stop smiling fondly, asking questions, instead of being cold and dismissive? And why? Why did he change in the first place?

Just another crime to add to his list, he supposes, wincing. 

It's his own ego, or rather, lack of one, he supposes. All flaunt and flounce, no actual substance. Always afraid, of being disliked, of being unneeded, of being unwanted, of not being good enough. His own insecurities making him lash out at Remus, for fear of being replaced.

Lash out at Logan. For fear of being found irrelevant. 

He winces again, replaying every snide remark, every mocking nickname, every time he shut Logan down or pushed him out, or pushed him away.

They had moments, sure, good memories, among the bad, discussing poetry, the rap battle, their shared appreciation of literature. But even he wasn’t fool enough to think the good outweighed the bad.

And that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it? 

He knows the dark sides aren’t bad, or evil. He knows this intimately, because of Remus. Because Remus isn’t bad, and Remus had told him how Deceit takes care of him when he’s overwhelmed, how he used to soothe Virgil, kept the emo sane at all, when he was new and barely in control. And he knows Ambition is so far from evil, is so far in the right that he could never be bad.

If anyone is bad, it is him. He's been a bad brother, a bad friend, a bad family member. A bad person. 

His shoulders drop even more at that thought, because it's true, and he deserves to be left behind, left alone, with his grief. It should be Remus's turn in the spotlight, he can imagine how his twin would thrive and glow off being center stage. It's not like Remus would be able to fuck up any harder than he already had. 

He hears a hiss, and he freezes. He hasn’t been watching where he was going, merely wandering absently. Usually, creatures in the imagination left him alone unless he was actively questing. But this wasn’t his side, and it was the outskirts of Remus's. Any creatures here would be impossible for him to control, and nearly as hard for Remus to influence. 

He steels himself and slowly reaches for his sword, pretending to be looking at his shoe. In one fluid motion, he draws his sword, holding it before him in a ready stance, eyes flashing with his blade as he looks up, assessing his foe.

And that is his first and only mistake he needs to make for his foe to hold all the cards.

Instantly, he is frozen in paralysis, ruby glimmering eyes all he can see, filling his entire world. His grip on his sword tightens, his knuckles going white with the effort of keeping it raised, keeping his stance, it takes all his will not to break under those eyes.

It is a Cockatrice. A feathered serpent. It trails poison in its wake, in its breath, in its being. Its eyes are hypnotizing, deadly, in some cases. This one appears to have a pointed stinger on its tail, venom dripping from its talons, its bright plumage screaming of danger, as it snaps its beak at him, hissing and stretching its wings.

They are a mesmerizing rainbow of color. They shimmer, flowing from fiery reds to deep ocean blues, enchanting and enticing, somehow promising everything he's ever wanted. He can see himself being lauded, being loved, Thomas being a star, and it brings tears to his eyes, how much it aches, stings, hurts, inside.

His sword has fallen from his hand, thumping softly into the underbrush. Distantly, he knows this is a mistake, he knows he should be fighting, but this warmth, this… hope is something he hasn’t felt in so, so, long.

Faster than his groggy mind can decipher, the wings flare shut. He stumbles, tries to dodge, but the beast is faster as the tail nicks his cheek. 

He rolls, grabbing his sword, eyes averted as he swings, but is balance is wrong, his grip sweaty, and the beast screeches, making him clap his hands over his ears, it is deafening, echoing in his skull, staggering. Then there are talons pinning him to the ground, puncturing through his body, and he hisses, wriggles, but they just push him harder into the ground. 

He gasps, vision flaring white, spasming as fire flares through his veins, burning him alive, from the inside out. He reaches up, scratching the talons, tearing at the feathers, at anything he can reach, feeling his own hands tearing into his skin, trying anything, everything, to get away, to get out, to make it stop, stop, STOP!

How funny, how silly, how utterly perfect, that he can’t do anything right, including saving himself from dying now. Maybe it’s better off this way, maybe they’ll all be better off this way. He can’t breathe, can’t even flail anymore, as he feels the cockatrice bite into his shoulder. His vision goes black and he screams, writhing and fighting and choking on bile before his throat closes up and everything stops.

…

Remus nearly screams, crumpling in two, hands clutching at his hair, the wash of agony is like nothing he’s ever felt, and it doesn’t take him even a second to know where it’s coming from. It vanishes as quick as it came, leaving nothing but a phantom ache behind. 

“Remus.” Deceit is supporting him, keeping him from face planting on the ground as he regains his balance. He lurches to his feet, barely aware of Deceit asking him what’s wrong, of Cygnus placing a hand on his shoulder, having come in from the living room at the commotion he’d made nearly falling. 

Instead he shoves past the two of them, sprinting to his room. He throws the door open hard enough it must dent the wall behind it, add a new crack to the wood, and he doesn’t even blink as he runs through the mirror that leads to his side of the imagination. 

It’s stronger here, and he nearly keels over again, it staggers him, and he can barely breathe for a moment, before his vision clears. His mirror leads to his bedroom in his castle, and he runs, throwing open the balcony door. He’s not surprised to see her waiting. 

“Hyacinth.” He gasps out, looking into the eyes of one of his closest friends, Roman’s favorite sparring partner, the Dragon Witch. Her eyes glitter like emeralds, two sets of leathery wings sprouting from her back, wearing a dark dress of glittering scales, knee high black boots. 

“You feel it, too.” She states, and he nods, panic welling in his throat, any second he is going to scream, it is going to overwhelm him, it is going to crush him, because Roman is in trouble, Roman is hurt, Roman is hurt very badly and he cannot, will not, lose him. 

“Find him. Please, we need to find him, I need to find him, I need to, have to…” He trails off, words becoming choked, vision becoming blurry, tears stinging his eyes. 

“I know. All my dragons are out searching. Both your kingdom and his. As soon as they find anything-“ Her words are cut off by a distant roar. Her head snaps up, and she grabs his hand, vaulting over the balcony with him, onto the back of a dragon. He doesn’t protest, just holds tight to the spine spikes of the silver beast, almost numb, at this point, with fear. 

They touch down what could be minutes or hours later, time has lost all meaning. He’s focusing too hard on his bond to Roman, which he can feel slowly growing weaker, which is bad, bad, bad. He’s begging him, pleading with him, bargaining with him, to hold on, keep holding on, please. 

He’s across the space in moments, freezing as his heart leaps to his throat. 

In the clearing is an orange ombre dragon, curled protectively around something on the ground. A bloodied, feathery mess is flung across, into the trees, barely recognizable as a cockatrice and his heart sinks to his feet. 

“roman.” He gasps out, lurching into motion once again, the dragon uncurling slightly, allowing him entry, and he falls to his knees as he pulls Roman onto his lap, eyes roving over every inch of his twin, there’s blood, so much blood, too much blood, to be coming from Roman. 

He can see where the beast pierced its talons deep into his flesh, can see the deep gashes across his chest where the creature must have raked him, there’s a chunk of flesh taken out of his shoulder, and saliva is foaming at his mouth, his face is drawn and pale, cheeks flushed, beads of sweat on his brow. His breathing is labored and shallow, he can hear him wheezing in, his chest barely moving up and down. 

Oh, this is bad, bad, bad. 

…  
It’s cold. 

That’s all he knows. 

It is dark. It is cold. He is alone. 

He deserves it. 

That’s all he knows. 

“roman.” Something. It jolts something in him, he knows that voice, but he isn’t used to it sounding so desperate, so afraid. He’s used to it being loud and proud and boisterous. Used to it laughing and cackling and spewing whatever words it can to make him blush like a tomato. 

He feels something. Wind? Wind. Flying. Ah. 

Hyacinth. 

Remus? Remus. 

It burns. Everything burns. Acid, eating him from the inside out, his blood corroding him, the air choking him, fire tracing itself across his skin, and he is shaking again, a choked sound escaping from his lips, as he coughs violently. He feels someone cradle him into a sitting position, feels something warm dripping down his chin.

“Roman. Roman, please. Please, please, please. Roman.” Remus. Something twinges in him at that, and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look up, barely able to make out green eyes and white streaked hair. 

“R… re…” He struggles out, choking on more blood, breathing feels unbearably impossible. 

“heal yourself, Ro, come on, use your stupid Disney kids power, no blood allowed, right? No guts and fluids and… and death, right, Ro? You know I can’t heal, you know I would if I could but I can’t, so just snap those fingers and poof, back to normal!” His voice is frantic, bubbling with anxiety. 

“C-an’t. N-not s-strong en-ough.” He forces out, eyes slipping closed. Everything is pain, every moment is pure anguish, and just wants it to end. “S-o-orry.” He gasps, barely feeling Remus’s arms hold him tighter. 

“NO! You don’t have anything to be sorry for, don’t be sorry, don’t give up on me, and you don’t have to be sorry.” 

His awareness slips away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others struggle to help Roman recover, not just from his physical injuries, but his mental ones as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISED I WOULD FIX IT AND I DID 
> 
> EVERYTHING'S FINE

“JANUS! CYG!” He screams, hearing twin pairs of footsteps racing down the hall, bursting through his open door, he’s sobbing openly now, gross sobbing, snot running down his face, tears streaming down his eyes. 

He feels someone trying to remove Roman from his arms, and he clings on tighter, incoherently babbling about blood and guts and poison and death, and fear, fear, fear- 

“Rem. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” He inhales deeply, something in Cygnus’s voice calming him, the soft surety getting his attention. “I need you to let go. Not for long, and you can stay the whole time if you want, but you need to let go if you want me to help him get better. Can you do that, please?” Cygnus explains softly, calmly, and he nods, hesitantly relinquishing Roman into Cygnus’s arms. 

“What should I know?” Cygnus asks, assessing the damage done to Roman, inhaling sharply as he takes in his current state. 

“Cockatrice. Poisoned talons, beak, stinger tail. I don’t… I don’t know an antidote, can’t make one, can’t heal, useless, I’m useless.” Instantly, Dee is there, wrapping his arms around him, and he buries his face against his shoulder, letting Dee soothe him, rub his back up and down as he cries. 

“Roman-“ 

“Will be taken care of, love. He’s in good hands. Let Cygnus do his work in peace. He’ll get us if anything happens.” 

“What if he dies? What if the poison stops his heart? What if he bleeds out on the floor? What if he’s left in a vegetative state and can never think or speak again? What if, what if, what…” He trails off, slumping against Janus, shaking. 

“Shh, I know, love. I know. But he’ll be ok, ok? He always is, he always bounces back.” He shakes his head. 

“He doesn’t. He pretends he does, pretends he’s ok, pretends he’s fine, but he isn’t, he’s not, he hasn’t been, not for a long, long, long time, not since before you started showing up, he isn’t sleeping, he isn’t stopping, he isn’t taking breaks, he’s working himself to death and no one notices and no one cares, and no one listens, and everyone shuts him down, and he cries all the time, and he’s broken, so broken, but he won’t tell anyone.” Remus blurts out, shoving away from Janus, shoving to his feet, fists clenched and shaking as he lets out a shout, summoning his mace. 

He screams, slamming it into the wall, chipping away at the wood, not stopping his furious assault until his arms are aching, until the head of the mace flies off the handle, across the room, crashing through his desk, until he’s screamed his throat raw and tastes copper, and still, it hurts, Roman hurts, and he hates, hates, hates, that all he is good at is breaking things.

He punches the wall with his fist, relishing the crack of his knuckles against the hard wood, the delicious pain that bruises his hand, sends a jolt up his shoulder, and it feels so good, to hurt, because he can feel Roman’s hurt, and he needs the wounds to match. 

“Remus. Enough.” Then Deceit is holding his arm, pulling him away from the wall, talking softly and gently and quietly, and his anger fizzles into hot, exhausted tears as he lets Janus guide him to bed and tuck him in.

…

Cygnus is sweating, doing his best to patch up Roman. His healing power is still intact, though it takes a bit more effort to use, since his swap to a dark side, but it’s still there, and he’s using every ounce of it now. 

He’s managed to repair the tissue missing from his shoulder, as it was the most serious injury he had. He has also closed up the puncture wounds, the scratch across his cheek, that was relatively easy, it was the venom that was giving him a run for his money, as they say. 

“l…lo…? Wh… wh…” Roman’s eyes are open, though they’re unfocused, glazed over with fever. He is burning up under his hands, and nothing he tries is breaking it or bringing it down. 

“Roman. You got injured. You’re sick. I’m doing everything I can. You’re going to be alright.” He isn’t sure about that last sentence, but he can’t bring himself to say otherwise. 

“n-not w…worth it. D…don’t wa-ste yo..ur time.” His breath catches as Roman’s eyes slip closed, going limp as his breathing continues to barely wheeze in and out. 

He stumbles back, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes widening as he feels himself trembling. Because all of Roman’s desire is focused on one singular thought, as loud and strong as if he’d screamed it from the rooftops. 

“Just let me die.”

…

“Roman. Please. Please, I need you to get better, you need to get better.” 

No, I don’t. I’m not worth the effort. I’m not worthy of it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it. You would do far better than I ever have. I hurt you. I hurt everyone. I can’t do anything good, or right. Every time I think I understand the rules, they change on me again, and everyone gets mad, everyone gets hurt, everyone is angry and I don’t understand what you want from me, so just let me go. 

“I won’t stop. I won’t leave. I won’t until you wake up. I’m not letting you give up, I’m not letting you blame yourself for everything, I’m not letting you tear yourself apart.” 

He can feel someone holding his hand in a death grip, a cool rag on his forehead, as he shivers, feeling both too hot and too cold all at once, shaking at the waves of fierce agony washing through him. He moans, feeling soft hands on him, cradling him in someone’s lap, and he peels open his eyes, vision blurred and stomach churning. 

“RoRo? Can you see me? You awake?” He doesn’t want to be. But he is. So he nods, trying to clear his throat, but his throat is raw, it feels like someone has shoved splinters into his larynx, and he chokes on his breath. 

Someone else holds a glass to his mouth, and he sips the cool water gratefully, blinking to clear his vision, flinching back at the silver/indigo eyes of Ambition. 

“why?” Ambition’s brow furrows, his head tilting slightly, in a way that had always meant Logan was trying to decipher something, understand something. Some things never change. “why save me?” He clarifies. 

“RoRo, why wouldn’t we help? You scared me, you scared me so badly.” Remus holds him a little closer, but he shoves him away, shoves off of his lap, hissing as he pulls something in his shoulder, his chest burning. 

“Roman-“ His eyes flash as he glares up at the two of them, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, an angry kind of hurt seething in his heart, because if he isn’t angry he doesn’t know what he’ll be and being mad for nothing is the whole reason he’s here in the first place, and god, he never learns, does he? How useless, how stupid, what an idiot. 

“You knew what I wanted.” He hisses, staring down Ambition, shoving venom into his voice. Because what’s the point of knowing what everyone wants if you don’t honor their wishes? “You saved me anyway, you know how it feels to not be listened to, to have nobody give a shit, to have everyone ignore you and speak over you and shoot down every single one of your ideas, no matter how hard you’re trying, gods know I’m sick of trying, I try so hard and I can never do anything right, just look what happened with you, because I’m an insensitive, insecure, worthless, asshole and I just want it to be over and done with already!” He yells, crumpling in on himself, hands laced through his hair as he shakes, breathing unsteady. “I’m so… useless. I’m so tired and dried up. I have nothing, I am nothing, I just… I’m so… done.” He whispers, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. He feels Remus reach out, place a hand on his shoulder, and he shivers, hiccupping on his sobs. “I’m sorry.” 

“Roman!” Ambition calls, reaching for him, feeling what he is about to do, but not fast enough to do anything about it as he sinks out, back to his room, locking his door, before stumbling to his bed, collapsing atop it before passing out again, embracing oblivion as his fever spikes. 

… 

Everything is a haze. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying here. It could be hours, it could be weeks, it could be minutes. 

He drifts in and out of what could generously be called nightmare filled bouts of sleep. 

Sometimes he can’t tell the difference between being awake and asleep. Sometimes he can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. He doesn’t know which one he wishes for more. 

Sometimes the cockatrice is back, ripping into his flesh, tearing him to shreds, devouring him alive as he screams and writhes, desperate cries going unanswered, because who would come save him, now? 

Sometimes it’s Patton, gently stroking his cheek, before his eyes go cold and his hand plunges into his chest, ripping out his heart and crushing it in his grip, as he collapses to the floor, life draining out of him. 

Sometimes he’s on stage, a crowd of people watching, waiting, but he can’t move, can’t speak, he’s frozen to the spot, and he misses his cues. The crowd starts to whisper, then murmur, then boo. Things are thrown at him, but he’s forced to stand still, to take it, to absorb all the hatred and failure and ruin. 

Sometimes his vision just swims in and out, colors blending and forms shifting until his room almost looks like an alien landscape, and it would be almost soothing, if it weren’t accompanied by waves of vertigo that have him clenching his fists, clinging to anything within reach, trying to convince his body that no, he’s not moving, he’s lying down, he’s perfectly still. 

In his clearer moments, he knows he should drink something, knows he should eat something, knows it will help him get better. Sometimes, he thinks he hears someone speaking on the other side of the door, sometimes he hears knocking, frantic voices. Sometimes, he almost has the motivation to open it, thinking of Remus’s distress at his state. 

But he doesn’t. He lets himself sink back into his fever dreams, lets his apathy overwhelm him again and again, because it will hurt, at first, but he’ll forget, soon enough, he’ll be brilliant, as the one and only creativity, it’s what he’s always wanted, after all. 

And he is tired. Tired of trying his best only to be told it isn’t good enough. Tired of trying to be on the good side, only to be told every time that, somehow, he wasn’t right. Tired of always being wrong, no matter how hard he is working to be better, to be right. Tired of giving up on his dreams for everyone else to be happy, tired of being pushed aside, tired of being broken over and over, tired of being tired! 

He just wants to let it all go. 

When the summons comes, he doesn’t fight it. He’s too tired, too empty, too done, to even care enough to not show his face. 

He rises up in his corner of the room, arms hugging himself tight around his middle, eyes glued to the floor, because he doesn’t want to see the pity or disgust in their eyes, doesn’t want to open his mouth just to be berated again, doesn’t want to do anything other than curl up in a ball and disappear. 

He looks like shit. He knows it. His hair is an absolute mess, the bags under his eyes rival Virgil’s darkest eyeshadow, it’s only been a few days, at most, but he is thinner, gaunt, eyes red rimmed and puffy, from the ceaseless, empty tears that never seem to stop, even though his emotions have. He thinks the fever is gone, the venom worked its way out of his system, but he still feels off balance, still feels a bit hazy and wobbly, though that probably goes back to the not eating or drinking thing he’s been doing. 

“Oh, buddy.” He hears Thomas exhale, and he shrinks back farther, yet again, a disappointment. What kind of hero shows himself at his weakest? What kind of hero fails the way he has, can’t even fight off his own demons, much less others’? 

Then again, he’s not a hero. He never has been. He’s a nobody. 

“Roman, please. Please talk to us.” Virgil, a soft kind of desperation in his voice, and once again, he’s failed, because he’s scaring them. He really can’t do anything right, can he? 

A choked sob escapes his lips, before he covers his mouth with his hand, refusing to let anything else out, though he can see the tears dripping to the floor, he wonders if he’d collected them all, how big a pond they could fill, surely nothing would survive in them, the salt too much to bear. 

“Roman…” Patton, who can surely feel his pain more than anyone else, surely by now it is leaking over to him, no matter how hard he is trying to keep it contained. He flinches at Patton's touch, pulling away. 

“What happened, Ro?” Thomas asks, and he has to choke back broken laughter. What hasn’t happened, what hasn’t he fucked up, what hasn’t he failed?

“Ask him. He knows.” He leans against the wall, vision swimming as he uses his power to summon Ambition. 

“Logan? What-" Thomas squeaks out, no doubt taking in his new appearance. Ambition winces.

“Is now the time for this conversation? I was hoping to avoid this until-" 

“Ambition.” Virgil interrupts softly, nodding towards Roman, so small looking that he hadn’t even seen him there. “He called you.” 

“Roman-“ He feels Ambition take a step toward him, and he shakes his head. 

“Tell them.” He says, wincing at his own voice, because it sounds so unlike him. 

“Roman. Please.” Ambition is before him now, and he manages to lift his head, to look at those endless eyes, the warmth in them breaking him further until he thinks he might shatter. “I will. If you let someone, anyone, take care of you, I’ll tell them.” He doesn’t flinch back this time, as Ambition reaches out, slowly tucking back his hair. He shudders, leaning into the contact, eyes slipping closed for a moment, at the warmth, at the soft comfort, as he feels Ambition gently wipe away his tears with his thumb. 

“ok.” He whispers, eyes flicking open once more, though he doesn’t meet anyone’s, instead staring down at the carpet. 

“who do you want, Roman?” 

“Deceit.” He doesn’t hesitate, though he can feel Ambition’s surprise at his answer, though he recovers from it quickly, with a sharp nod. “remus can come too, I know he must be losing it.” He mumbles, feeling a bit lighter at the upwards tug he can see at the corner of Ambition’s lips. 

“he is. I think he’s broken every piece of furniture in his room, and added about a dozen new holes in the wall.” He hears the slight pop of Deceit and Remus appearing, and instantly, he is surrounded by warmth. He melts into the embrace, slowly wrapping his own arms tight around the warmth, shoulders shaking as more endless sobs escape him. 

“brobro.” Remus’s voice is choked, and he can feel his twin’s tears staining his pajama top, but he doesn’t care, folding tighter against him. “you had me scared. I thought you were really gonna do it. I thought you were really gonna leave me.” Remus’s voice breaks. 

“m sorry.” He mumbles, feeling Remus pulling back, a pained sound escaping his throat at the loss of contact, the loss of warmth, but his twin’s hand slips into his, and Deceit is standing before him, rubbing up and down his arm, eyes dark and nearly unreadable. 

“hey there Princey. Can we start getting you cleaned up a bit, love?” Deceit’s voice is soft and mellow, an almost musical lilt to it that helps soothe him, helps ease something loose in his chest as he nods. “alright, darling. How about a bath? You wouldn’t believe it, but I am a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to bath bombs and scented oils, helps with the shedding. We can peruse my collection, and pick out something you like, to help relax those sore muscles. Does that sound alright?” A small smile tugs at his lips as he quietly acquiesces, letting Deceit take the lead as they sink out to the snake sides room. 

…

“Ok, ok, ok, so what is going on? Why does Roman look like… like that? And why do you look like that?!” Thomas asks, turning to Ambition, who sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“His name isn’t Logan, anymore, Thomas. We… neglected him. All of us. You included. So, he changed, moved over to the dark side. That’s why his look changed, along with his role and his name. He’s Ambition now, not Logic, and we… don’t know his name. He hasn’t told us. We haven’t earned it. Haven’t earned his trust. Which is fair.” Ambition looks over to Virgil, who’s seated on the stairs, hood pulled up over his head, chin on his knees, a bit startled. Of all of them, he hadn’t expected Virgil to be the one to explain so evenly and truthfully what had happened. Virgil catches his glance, and smiles wryly. “What? I get it, dude, I did the same thing. Just glad you’re doing better.” Virgil gives him his two finger salute, and he finds himself smiling just a bit. 

“That about sums it up, yes. I am now known as Ambition. I sense desires and wishes, what everyone wants. And… that is where Roman comes into play.” His smile fades.

“We were trying to get to him, but he locked his room. We tried talking to him, begging him, really, but he wouldn’t open it up. We… we didn’t want to involve you, if you weren’t ready to see Thomas, but we needed to get him out of his room, and this was the only way. I didn’t know he would summon you.” Patton explains apologetically, and he nods. 

“I understand, Patton. I wish this reintroduction were under better circumstances. I had hoped giving Roman some time in his room to settle down would help his emotional state, but I believe you did the correct thing.” Patton nods, a bit of relief in his eyes that he’s not upset. 

“Ok. So, what happened with Roman? Why… I’ve never seen him look like that.” 

“He hasn’t been feeling his best for a while now.” Virgil says softly, sinking a bit further back into his hood as everyone’s eyes turn on him. 

“What do you mean, Virg?” Thomas asks softly. Virgil exhales hugely. 

“He hasn’t been as loud, as he usually is. He’s been quiet. He hasn’t been singing, or dancing down the halls, or coloring in the living room, scattering his art stuff everywhere. He hasn’t been spending time in the imagination, either. Any time I pass his door I felt him inside, just… sitting there, running on autopilot. I’ve tried, to get him to talk, to get anything out of him, but once he sees someone’s there, he squares up his shoulders and puts on his smile, as if nothing’s wrong. He won’t… tell me.” Virgil sighs, plucking at loose strings on his hoodie. 

“I… hadn’t noticed.” Thomas sounds a bit lost, looking around at his sides, or the ones who remain, and sits heavily on the couch. “I’ve been neglecting myself, haven’t I?” He murmurs, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yes. You have. But that’s nothing you can’t fix, given time and space. I know you’ve been busy, and had a lot on your mind, but it’s time to take some time for yourself.” Ambition says gently. 

“He’s right, kiddo. We… I’ve been pushing you pretty hard, lately. Putting a lot of pressure on you, to be perfect, and everyone’s suffered for it. I’m sorry, Virg. I know you’ve been more stressed that usual, cause of everything going on, how hard I’m trying to be perfect. And I’m sorry again, Ambition, for not being there for you, for not listening, because you are right. And I’m sorry, Thomas, for making it so impossible to be who I want you to be. You don’t have to be perfect. You shouldn’t be! Nobody is! I know you always try your best, to do what’s right. And… and that is always, always, good enough for me. I’m proud of you, kiddo. No matter what, I’m proud of you. All of you.” Patton lets out a little laugh as he swipes at his eyes. “I’m just a big sap, aren’t I?” He mumbles, letting out a squeak as he’s pulled into a hug. 

It takes him a moment to realize it’s Thomas, Thomas is hugging him, one hand cradling against his head, the other pressing against the small of his back, and he makes a soft noise, burying his head against Thomas’s shoulder, letting himself sniffle, letting himself let out his feelings.

“Thank you, Pat. That means a lot, to me. I know you’re always trying your best, too, even when that means you go a little overboard, sometimes. I forgive you, Pat, even though I was never mad to begin with, I forgive you.” Thomas hugs Patton a little tighter, his head nestled against Patton’s hair, as he smiles smally, looking at his other sides. 

Virgil is smiling smally to himself from his perch on the steps, sitting straight and uncurled, a lightness to his posture that Thomas doesn’t see enough, that he’ll work harder to bring out. Ambition has that small upturn to his lips, proud glint in his eyes that he gets whenever someone learns something new, a subtle soft fondness to his eyes. He wants to see that look more often. 

“come here, you two.” He says fondly. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary-“ 

“Nope-“ Ambition and Virgil say at the same time, and Patton lets out a giggle, looking up at the two of them, eyes wet but shining. 

“Get over here, kiddos, before you make me come over there.” Virgil rolls his eyes, but his lopsided smile lights up his face as he joins the hug. 

“Come on, Teach, if I’m doing it, you gotta join in.” Ambition pauses at the use of his old nickname, but hesitantly joins in regardless, loosening up as he feels Virgil’s arms around him, then Patton’s and Thomas’s and somehow, he’s become the center of the hug. 

“I love you all, so, so much. We’re all gonna do better, to listen and take care of each other. I’m going to do better to take care of all of you.” Thomas murmurs, and Patton can feel the love swelling in his own chest, the tender fondness filling him up from the inside out. Ambition feels pride sweep through him, feeling how much Thomas wants this, means this, will work towards this. And Virgil is just glad that the tension that had been filling the mindscape has broken. 

“Someone keep me updated on how Roman’s doing, yeah? And… and let him know I wanna talk, whenever he’s ready to. I don’t wanna pressure him, but…” 

“I know, kiddo. We’ll send him your way. Now go eat some cookies and watch a movie. You deserve it.” Patton says, finally pulling away, flashing him a shaky but sincere smile, before sinking out with a little wave. 

“Welp. Guess that’s my cue. See you next time, Thomathy.” Virgil says, smiling a bit wider at Thomas’s snort, before vanishing like a ghost. 

“I suppose I should be going, as well. I want to check up on Deceit and Remus. See how they’re coming along with him. Ideally, he’ll be sleeping by now.” 

“Lo-Ambition, wait.” Thomas calls, and he freezes, absurdly afraid that, for some reason, now that they’re alone, he will be rejected. “I know I don’t know exactly what went down, but I want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. Ok, let me rephrase that,” Thomas laughs, at Ambition’s incredulous look, “It changes a lot of things, but it doesn’t change us. You’re still the coolest person I know, bud. And when I said I’m gonna do better to take care of everyone, I meant you and Deceit and Remus, too.” Ambition smiles, looking away, letting out a soft breath. 

“Thank you, Thomas. I will take that under advisement.” 

“Ambition?” He pauses again, turning to give Thomas an exasperated glance, that makes him laugh. 

“I like the new look.” Ambition smiles, a radiant, full face smile, that absolutely melts Thomas’s heart, because when was the last time he looked that happy? Ambition nods once, before sinking out, leaving Thomas to collapse onto the couch and fumble for the remote. Time to replay some kingdom hearts and give everyone a break. 

…

Remus looks up at the whoosh of someone sinking in, relaxing as he sees its just Cygnus. Roman is snuggled close to his chest, burritoed in a blanket, sleeping peacefully. He can hear Janus in the kitchen, humming softly, the scent of warm, comforting soup wafting through the dark side. 

“How’s he doing?” Cygnus asks lowly, not wanting to wake Roman, who desperately needs the rest. He’s relieved to see him sleeping, the prince already looks better, a little less pale, a little less hopeless, bundled against Remus, who is holding him as if he’ll never let go. 

“Better. He opened up a bit, with Jan, he helped him with the bath. He was halfway asleep when he got out, but we got a little bit of food in him, before he passed out. How’d it go on your end?” 

“Good. A lot better than I’d expected. Virgil was surprisingly helpful in keeping Thomas calm, explaining everything to him very, well,” his lips twist in a bittersweet smile, “logically. He’d noticed Roman’s deteriorating state, he just hadn’t been able to get Roman to open up.” He replies, sitting carefully on the couch, so as to not shift it too much. 

“Yeah. He’s pretty stubborn, pretty dedicated to the knight in shining armor bit.” 

“Unlike anyone else I know, I’m certain.” Remus scoffs at Cygnus’s side eyeing him, mock offense playing across his face. 

“Please. I don’t do all that rescuing damsel in distress shit.” Cygnus raises an eyebrow. 

“You did with me.” Well. There’s nothing he can say to that, and he finds himself for once speechless, blushing furiously, because when the hell did Cygnus get smooth!? “Besides, I know you’d fight anyone and everyone for us, Rem. For him, too.” 

“Is that Cyg?” Janus pokes his head out from the kitchen, eyes pinched with worry as he leans against the end of the couch, looking hard at Cygnus. 

“I’m fine. Thomas… assured me that our relationship is still intact, that he holds nothing against me. He said he liked the new look.” He mumbles the last sentence with a blush at Deceit’s soft chuckle, feeling his fingers ghost over the scales dotting his cheekbones. 

“He should. You’re stunning, darling.” Deceit laughs harder as his face burns. 

“He’s going to take a break. Thomas is, I mean. Everyone agreed it’s necessary. Patton… apologized. To everyone, for his impossible standards. For pushing so hard. And Thomas wants to spend time with everyone. Wants to take more time, for everyone. Including you two.” Deceit nods, a soft smile on his lips as he slips onto the couch beside Cygnus.

“How are you doing, lovely?” 

“Good. I’m good. I think… I think things are going to start getting better, Dee.”

“I hope so.” 

“I hope someone fucks me like a porn star on the dining room table.” Remus comments idly, surprising them into silence for a moment before bursting into uncontrolled laughter, shattering the heaviness of the moment. 

It’s still a long road to a full recovery. To any of them being close to okay. But they’ll get there. Together, they’ll all get there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas summons Roman, and they have a much needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE ANOTHER CHAPTER!
> 
> I just felt like I needed something to tie up Roman's little story arc, so here we are.   
> A little angst, a little fluff, and Princey feeling a whole lot better.

He's with everyone, when he feels the familiar tug. A bit surprising, given that no one else seems to feel it, and it makes his fragile heart beat just a bit faster.

He feels so cracked, still. 

Everyone is being nice, everyone is making sure to spend time with him, spend time together, as groups or one on one, dark side, light side, it’s mattering less and less by the day. Instead of there being an endless chasm between the two worlds, it’s more like a two story apartment. 

When Remus appears, he's met with a small smile from Patton, a quiet hey from Virgil, and wraps him in a hug before he has a chance to say a word. He comes around more often now. Roman feels badly, for how much he scared everyone, but especially Remus. He's been spending more time with his twin, who understands him better than anyone, and these days they spend more time together than apart.

Janus always pretends to be annoyed, visiting the light side, even though he’s the one that chose to stop by. He’s spending more time with Virgil, the two of them mending whatever fence had been broken. Often, he finds them in the living room, Virgil curled against Janus, eyes closed, if not fully asleep, Janus smiling softly as he pets Virgil's hair. It’s sweet, he thinks. Makes him think of Patton. 

Patton has been making an effort, too. Not just inviting the others up for dinners or movie nights, but going downstairs, playing board games, debating, in a constructive way, with Dee, or listening to Ambition. Working with all of them to find a healthier balance of work and self care, both for Thomas and all of them. 

It’s… good. 

For the first time in a long time, things feel good. Everyone is being heard.

Which is why this call makes him afraid, because he hasn’t spoken to Thomas since he’d fallen apart in front of him, and he’s doing better now, too, but the wounds are still there, still a barely a closed scab over his heart, and he feels… raw. 

“Roman?” He looks up at the question in Virgil's voice, he no doubt can feel the anxiety prickling under his skin.

“Thomas. He's calling me.” He answers. Virgil nods, slipping his headphones off his ears, around his shoulders. 

Patton and Janus are in the kitchen, having a baking competition (who knew Dee had a guilty pleasure for cooking shows, his favorite, of course, being Cutthroat Kitchen?), Virgil is sitting on the steps, listening to his music and meditating. Ambition is on the couch, reading a book, softly discussing it with Remus, and he himself is sitting on the floor in front of the table, coloring idly while listening to Ambition, occasionally asking a question or adding his input. He can feel Ambition's surprise and spark of happiness each time he does, proving he's been listening to every word, and he wishes he'd started listening sooner.

But there's no point in regrets, just in doing better, which is what he's been trying to convince himself of. 

“I suggest you go answer him, then.” Ambition replies evenly, though he can hear the soft concern in his voice.

“I should.” He says, making no move to leave, and he feels Remus squeeze his shoulder.

“It’s ok, Ro. I promise. It’ll be good.” He sighs at that soft assurance, pushing himself to his feet. He doesn’t know if Remus is right or not, but he knows not going now will only make his own anxiety worse. Like a band aid. Just gotta rip it off and pray the sting fades. “And if it isn’t, I’ll haunt his nightmares!” Remus adds cheerily.

“You'll do that regardless, you insufferable gremlin.” He says fondly, ruffling Remus's hair, grinning, sinking out before Remus can retaliate, hearing Ambition laugh at the squawking duke.   
…  
He sinks up into the living room. No dramatic flourish or loud sing song declaration, his voice seems stuck in his throat, and he feels oh so small again.

“Hey, bud.” He looks up, a bit surprised to see Thomas sitting on the couch, wearing comfy clothes and chilling out, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Hello.” He replies, a bit strained, a bit awkward. 

“Wanna come hang out?” He furrows his brow, plucking at his sweater. He's wearing the Christmas one, he hasn’t put his prince outfit back on yet. He doesn’t feel like he's earned it. Like he is a prince. 

“Why?” he asks, watching Thomas closely as he frowns slightly, clearly thinking over his words carefully.

“Because I've been hurting you without noticing, and that needs to stop. I care about you, Roman, and I… haven’t been very good at showing it, lately. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, walking quickly to the couch, kneeling before Thomas, taking one of his hands. A knight swearing fealty to his noble.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should be better than this, that’s the problem, is I’m not, I’ve never been… good enough. You’re so… amazing, Thomas, you can accomplish so, so much, but I’m just not good enough to get you there. Maybe if it were still King, maybe if there were only one of us, but alone, I can’t, and I’m the one who’s so, so sorry.” 

Thomas is looking down at him, brown eyes surprised, as he fumbles for words. He settles on leaning forwards, wrapping his arms around Roman's neck in an all encompassing hug. His breath hitches, and suddenly he’s crying, burying his face against Thomas. 

“oh, buddy. I’ve really broken you, huh?” Thomas murmurs, slipping off the couch and onto the floor with him, rubbing up and down his back, hugging him closer.

“I’m so-rry. I t-try so hard but it's not enough and I d-don't kn-know what else I can do.” He stutters out, pressing tighter against Thomas's shoulder, feeling guilty for accepting this comfort, this contact, he’s supposed to be the strong one, supposed to be the defender, not the one falling apart. 

“I know, God Roman, I know, I can feel it, everyday I can feel how hard you try and it’s not your fault, you are always good enough, you are always enough. I know how much you give up, I know how utterly selfless you are, I know how hard you try to cover up all your fears and flaws and that’s fine, but it’s fine to be hurting, too, it’s fine to be sad, it’s fine to be selfish. It’s ok to fight for yourself, Roman, not just for me.” He lets the touch soothe him, lets his tears slowly stop, though he doesn't move from where he's practically curled against Thomas.

“It isn’t. Not when I fail. At everything I do, I fail. Every romance, every audition, every dream and hope and goal, I have failed. I failed to look out for Remus, I failed to accept Deceit, I failed to reach out to Logan, I failed to be kind to Virgil, I failed them, I failed you, I’m a failure.” Thomas pulls back, hands on his shoulders, fiery warmth in his eyes that he knows used to be reflected in his own. But his fire has burned low, barely an ember, and that aching tiredness is back in his bones. “you deserve so much better.”

“No. Roman, you’re my hero.” He jolts at those words, denials ready to fall from his lips, but Thomas shakes his head, forcing Roman to look up, look at him. “you are. You are not a failure. You are the reason I go to every audition, the reason I make my own videos, the reason I have the amazing career and life that I have. You are the reason I have all my friends, because you push me to talk, to meet new people, to be spontaneous. You’re the reason I dream big, the reason I sing for no reason, the reason I doodle, the reason I love art of all kinds. All my passion and dreams and love! How could you ever have failed me, when you’ve given me all of that? When you continue to give everything you are, even when it’s tearing you to pieces. Even when you’re so hurt, you still try and smile and lighten my mood, and act brave and strong even when you feel anything but. You make me better, Roman. You make me happy. Even at your worst, I love you. I will always love you and need you and want you. You’re my hero, Roman. You are.”

He can’t breathe. It feels like his lungs are on fire, and he finally sucks in a breath, something tight in his chest unknotting itself at Thomas’s declaration, the cold, hard pit of despair and self loathing starts to lighten, and he's gasping in air like a man nearly drowned because for the first in time in nearly a week he can breathe again. 

He lets his head thump forwards, forehead resting against Thomas's chest as he exhales a huge, shuddering breath, letting Thomas rub up and down his arms to ground him. He’s not crying, exactly, it’s somewhere between euphoria and crushing doubt, gasping and shaking as he tries to steady himself.

“Roman? You ok?” He’s not, not yet, not really, but he’s better, he’s so, so much better, but he can’t find the words to express what it feels like to have this incredible weight lifted from his shoulders, these shackles he hadn’t even realized he’d chained himself to, to be released, and it’s impossible to remember the last time he felt this light, this almost dazzlingly happy. 

“Yes. Just… tired. The normal kind, not… not the existential dread kind.” He replies, smiling at Thomas’s small laugh, more weight freeing itself from the pit of his stomach at that sound, a small reflection of how he himself feels. “thank you.” He whispers. 

“Always, Ro. I’m here for you, alright? If you’re not feeling heard, if we’re being too harsh instead of constructive, if you just need to talk, I’m here.” He pulls back finally, wiping at his eyes, unable to help the grin on his face, feeling a thousand beams of light shining inside his chest at how Thomas grins right back, warm, soft, care and hope in his eyes. “Another thing. I know you work hard, for me, too hard, for your own good, sometimes. I know creating things is literally your role, but it doesn’t always have to be your job, y’know? It… it should be fun. It should be something we love doing, even when we are doing it for the show, or a video, or whatever. So, we’re going to start writing together, okay? Anything we want, anything we think of, no matter how silly or nonsensical or stupid it is, even if it doesn’t have a plot, even if it’s just word vomit on the page. Just… doing it together, to do something together. For fun. Yeah?” He almost breaks, he can feel tears threatening again, because god, when was the last time he felt this happy, this stupid with joy, because Thomas is right, he misses questing for fun, not frustration, he misses writing short stories or poems, not panicking over late scripts or forcing ideas. He misses writing or drawing whatever comes to mind, instead of narrowing his scope so specifically he can’t find a single idea in his sea of millions. And to do that, with Thomas, together? They’re going to make worlds upon worlds of curious, wonderful, quirky creatures. He’s already more excited for this than he has been for anything else in years, already ideas are springing to mind, and he loves it.

“yes. Please, yes.” He near whispers, afraid this is a dream, afraid this is a wonderful, beautiful dream, that will shatter any second along with his heart. “I would really, really love that.” Thomas beams at him again, slipping back up onto the couch, patting the cushion next to him. 

“Cool. Good, I didn’t want to pressure you, but I’m kinda super excited about it.” He laughs, sitting next to Thomas, realizing Kingdom Hearts is pulled up on the screen, the very first one, and he sees Thomas looking at him out of the corner of his eye, with that silly, stupid grin. 

“What is it Thomas the dank engine?” He asks, borrowing one of Patton’s nick names. Thomas shakes his head, grin growing somehow wider, grabbing the controller. 

“It’s just good to see you looking like… you again, Princey.” He looks down, realizing he’s unconsciously shifted himself back into his prince attire, katana and all, and he dramatically sighs, leaning back into the cushions. 

“Yes, well, a prince’s work is never done. For now, we must vanquish the vile villainous, the darkest shadow, the mistress of all evil herself! FOR DISNEY!” He cries, brandishing his weapon, Thomas snorting, laughing. 

“Dude, she’s like one of the last bosses we fight. We’ll get to Hades waaaay before her.” 

“Well, it’s the intention that counts. ONWARDS!” He cries, Thomas shaking his head fondly as he presses start, both of them on the edge of their seats even though they already know by heart what is about to happen, bantering back and forth over the dialogue, doing their best impressions of the characters to read their dialogue. 

It’s fun and silly and stupid, and every moment of it is a balm to his sore and broken heart, until by the time he returns to his room, far, far later than he should, well past midnight, he is smiling and his stomach aches from laughing, and he suspects that’s the reason none of the others fetched him sooner, told him or Thomas to go to bed, because his laughter had echoed through the mindscape for the first time in months. 

He feels solid, again. 

He feels right, again. 

And the next morning, when Patton wakes slowly to the smell of waffles and bacon, and he stumbles into the hall, running into Virgil, who holds a finger to his lips, tilting his head towards the kitchen, he stays silent, first out of confusion, then out of awe and relief strong enough to bring tears to his eyes, as he finally realizes what he’s hearing.

Singing. For the first time in nearly four months, Roman is shamelessly, joylessly, singing.


End file.
